


Au Revoir

by Martina



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Grieving John, M/M, Post-Reichenbach, Reichenbach Feels, True Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-27
Updated: 2015-01-27
Packaged: 2018-03-09 08:26:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,572
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3242939
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Martina/pseuds/Martina
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's been three weeks since The Fall, and John Watson still has many things to say to Sherlock Holmes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Au Revoir

The  tendrils of cold morning air crawled in through my open window and pushed me down into my bed, urging me to stay in the warm safety of my blankets. The rain the weatherman had denied had just begun to fall, tapping with cruel volume on my windows, daring me to try to get up. 

I rolled over and saw the blue-green digital display of 5:44 emblazoned on my alarm clock. 'One more minute, again,' I thought, just as the last four mornings. I closed my eyes and savored the remaining sixty seconds before I would have to get up and face the cold, wet day. 

I didn't waste time eating breakfast. There was no point. Why bother feeding myself when he was gone? I could hardly remember my life before him, it all seemed blurry and meaningless. He was the reason I needed breakfast and energy. But now, my work as an average, normal, general practitioner in London hardly required as much energy as what he had needed from me. 

It had been three weeks. Three terrible weeks of tear-soaked grief that drowned out all joy and hope from me. Nothing mattered anymore, least of all breakfast. 

"Good morning, John," the familiar voice of Mrs. Hudson called from downstairs. 

"Morning Mrs. Hudson," I responded from behind my locked door. She had come to know my morning routine by now, I suppose. Not surprising, since every day I do the same thing. 

He would've been so bored with my life. 

Sunday is the one day I don't have to go into the office. That morning being a Sunday I was pleased to have freedom, though every Sunday for the past three weeks I'd done the same thing: got up at 5:45, skipped breakfast, put on my best shirt and sweater if it was cold, and taken a cab to the church. I suppose there were sermons being given, but I didn't care. He had never cared to be told what to do, think or believe. I was on those sacred grounds every week to honor him, not through prayer, but through discussion and conversation, as I knew he would've preferred. 

I'd sit beside that cold black marble slab bearing his beautiful name and just talk. I'd complain about my annoying patients, and hear his snarky comments assuring me that they were all in fact, idiots. 

I'd keep him updated on news of the day, what the Queen was up to, Anderson's rapid downward spiral, Greg's latest case. In response, I could almost hear his exasperated sigh as he'd roll his ice blue eyes and mock me for informing him of such trivial matters. 

In an effort to be more like him, I decided that particular rainy Sunday to try some deductions. If the world couldn't have him, I could try to learn how to be him, or at least learn his skills. I looked down at myself and wondered what he would've seen.  
“I see a black button down shirt,” I said, tugging at my own sleeve, soaked by the rain. “You would've noticed I haven't done the top button, which is odd for me. You'd then deduce that I'd left in a hurry, not having time to properly finish dressing.” I paused and allowed myself to smirk like I know he would have after telling someone all about themselves. “I see a normal pair of dark jeans,” I continued, “You would've observed that I am wearing a brand new leather belt, based on the color and creasing on it. From that, you would know that I no longer fit my old belt, and splurged on a luxe new one to try to force myself not to alter my weight any further.” 

It almost made me smile, thinking about how his face would've looked as he studied me inch by inch. But, he would've been wrong. 

“You always did miss the most simple clues when it came to things like this.” 

“I’d of course had plenty of time to get dressed, and I could have easily done my top button. I am indeed wearing a new belt because I’ve lost so much weight already and I need to retain my weight for health reasons. What you would’ve missed- what you had always missed- is the ‘Why.’ Why didn’t I bother doing my top button? Why have I knowingly lost so much weight? Why do I have nothing better to do on a Sunday morning than to sit beside a gravestone and talk out loud though I know no one is listening?”

Tears came to my eyes suddenly, and I knew it was time for me to answer the ‘Why’ for him, finally, three weeks too late. 

“Did you ever know why, Sherlock?” I nearly yelled, my voice breaking over the name I had rarely uttered over the last three weeks. “Because you were all I had! You are still all I have, but now you're gone. You left me, and you knew exactly what you were doing to me. You stood there on that ledge and you lied to me. How could you believe I would think for a minute that Moriarty was your invention? You are a crazy man, Sherlock Holmes,” the passion in my voice was growing with each admission, each mention of his name. “But you never cared about fame, about recognition or money. You hated all of that. You only allowed me to write my blog on you because- I don’t even know why! But when the reporters flocked to Baker street, you tried to hide. You cared only about your work. In fact you cared so exclusively for your work that you didn't see that all I cared about was you.” The anger had dissipated, and sadness flooded my being. 

I could not speak any more. I collapsed into myself and sobbed into my sleeve, thinking of nothing but him, and my request for a last miracle from him that could never be reality. I sat on the wet soil, alone with the marble and cold stone angels scattered around the yard. The statues had no emotions, no feelings, they just protected those they were destined to watch over forever. Guardian Angels. But those they had been trusted to protect no longer had any use for protection. Sherlock could not use their stoney gaze and intimidating figures, not anymore. He was gone, beyond the help of the angels. Beyond my help as well.

“You never needed my help, did you?” I whispered, broken and shuddering. “Not like I needed you. Like I still need you.”

Unable to bear the emotions any longer, I struggled my way to my feet, leaning on the hard, inhuman marble slab. It didn’t even feel like he was there. It was as if I was speaking to an empty casket buried under the dirt. He would never hear me. I hobbled away, wiping away my tears and the raindrops on my face. I could no longer stare at that dead marble marker bearing the name of the most noble man I had ever met. The only person I had ever loved.

 

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

 

I watched him leave, his uneven walk striking pain into my heart. The limp had come back. He hadn't limped last Sunday. This was the last I would see of him for quite some time, possibly ever. The mission Mycroft was sending me on could very well lead to my demise, I knew this. Seeing as I was already dead to the only person who mattered, I cared little how much longer I survived. 

“I will always need you, my dear John,” I whispered to myself as his small, faraway figure crawled into a cab. I felt my phone vibrate and pulled it out of my pocket, already knowing who it was from- only one person had my number anymore.

‘It is time. Meet me where we discussed. -Mycroft’

I read the text, unmoved by the abrupt call to action from my brother. I exited the text message screen and looked at my screensaver. A man in a silly woolen cat sweater, grinning from ear to ear as he took a half-drunken ‘selfie’ with my phone. John Hamish Watson at his happiest. This picture was all I needed. He made me, an undisputedly dead man, feel more alive than I ever had before. 

I looked around at the stone angels and wished I could be one. To see John every Sunday, to keep watch over him as I had done every day I’d known him. I’d be able to more clearly hear his elementary deductions of his own clothes and hear him try to think how I think. He had so much potential, truly. I wish I had told him when I had the chance.

But now I was leaving him alone, completely alone. I could only hope that when- if- I came back, his limp would be gone again.

“Au Revoir, John,” I said in the direction of Baker street. It felt right to use the French phrase, since it didn’t mean ‘goodbye’ with such finality as in English. It was closer to ‘Until we see each other again,’ which I had to believe we would. A life without seeing John Watson is barely a life. 

“Try not to let any dragons burn down Baker street, John,” I chuckled. How on earth will he get on without me?

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you liked it! Thank you for reading, comments, thoughts, questions are always welcome:) 
> 
> Ps I know the show is past this, but reichenbach feels never get old:')


End file.
